The Best
by CatherineCameo
Summary: A young British spy asks Sherlock Holmes to help her find her best friend.
1. Chapter 1

The sound of a single doorbell ring broke the silence of 221 B Baker Street.

"Mind if I get that?" John Watson asked his flat mate. But it was like talking to air. John huffed. Sherlock was in his "mind palace" again. John limped down the stairs and welcomed a young girl into the flat. He gestured for her to precede him up the stairs.

When the girl with dark hair that curled over her shoulders entered the flat, Sherlock noted that her pale brown arms were muscular and the legs that extended from under her denim shorts were lean. She wore sneakers too, but they were designer. Sherlock had never met anyone he couldn't deduce. Men were more difficult than women, and he could catch deductions about their jobs more easily than women. On the other hand, the character of a wealthy woman was easy to deduce because of the clothes she wore. This girl was not difficult to deduce, but somehow his deductions were coming too fast. _American, very patriotic; played track and field at her school, probably private; about seventeen; shy in nature; had flawless skin._

"Please, take a seat." John said, motioning to his chair.

"Thank you."

"Sherlock?" John asked.

"Age seventeen, unusual secondary education, excellent actress, classy dresser, native Londoner." Sherlock replied to the air. His primary deductions had been a mixture of truth and lies. Why was this girl pretending to be someone she wasn't?

"You're better than I thought." The girl murmured.

Sherlock blinked. No girl who was truly shy would saw something that bold to a stranger, especially an adult stranger.

"Bex Baxter." She held out her hand, bending to the influence of five years of Culture and Assimilation classes.

Sherlock looked down at her hand. "I don't bother with manners; boring."

"I agree. I'll get to the point." She took a deep breath. "My best friend ran away and has been missing for four weeks."

"That's only a month."

"I'm worried about her."

"Feelings." John stage whispered.

"Why?" Sherlock asked, ignoring his only friend.

"My friend is in danger."


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock Holmes knew how much normal human beings valued friendship. Only recently, he himself had decided that Doctor John Watson was his friend. John was everything that people wanted in a good friend: he was patient, quiet and had been fiercely loyal from day one. Maybe that was why Sherlock allowed him to rant and rave and correct his mistakes.

He studied the girl. She truly cared about her friend.

"Hello, dear brother." A familiar and utterly annoying voice came from the open doorway. Mycroft stood there, dressed to the nines as usual, umbrella in hand.

Sherlock waved two fingers absently. Why did his brother feel the need to invade his life so frequently?

The girl stood quickly. "Mr. Holmes." She bowed her head a little.

Mycroft nodded to the girl. "Rebecca."

John looked back and forth between Bex and Mycroft. "You know each other?"

"Of course." Sherlock and Bex answered at the same time.

"I'm her employer." Mycroft explained.

"What…" John's voice trailed off. Sherlock often said that his brother ran the government, and occasionally said that his brother _was_ the government.

"But she's only seventeen." Sherlock said, mimicking John's voice in his unasked question. "She's a spy." Sherlock clarified in his own voice.

"What?" John said again.

"Really, I thought my own country would less chauvinistic. You think the only spies are James Bond type." Bex snapped.

"It takes some getting used to." Mycroft murmured.

Then she added, "If James Bond were real, I could kick his ass."

"Rebecca." Mycroft cautioned. "Language."

"Are you seriously going to make my parents worry about me when I've only been talking to someone who can help us?"

"Rebecca, there is no guarantee that my brother will help us."

The girl sighed and her shoulders sank. "We need the best because we are fighting the worst."

"So I'm the best?" Sherlock asked, clearly pleased but skeptical.

"I've been told." Bex said. "But if Mr. Holmes says you won't help..." She sighed again.

"My brother does not dictate my life, as hard as he tries." Sherlock said in a gentle voice. "Mycroft, I will help all of you. Bex is obviously worried about her friend. It's safe to assume there is a legitimate reason behind her worry; she obviously does not worry without good reasons."

Bex sank into John's chair. "Thank you. Where should I begin?"

"Tell them about Cameron, Rebecca." Mycroft suggested.

"Cameron Ann Morgan is my best friend. I've known her since I was in seventh grade. By the time I knew her, her father had been dead a few years. It wasn't until this year that we learned her father had been trying to take down a terrorist group called the Circle of Cavan."

A more emotional girl would have been crying by now. "The Circle has been around since the 1860s; their leader Ioseph Cavan, tried to assassinate Abraham Lincoln."

All eyes in the room were on Rebecca. "He failed and we are proud to say that is because of the founder of our school, Gillian Gallagher, stopped him."

She took a deep breath. "Matthew Morgan came close to stopping the Circle and they killed him. His daughter told us she left to find answers, naturally, we fear the worst."

"She told you?" Sherlock asked.

"Not exactly. You see, she writes these reports." The girl rose and passed a neat pile of papers to the detective. He took them. "Look at the last page." Bex pointed to the very last line.

_I'll be back and when I am, I promise I'll have answers._


	3. Chapter 3

Rebecca Baxter entered the flat the next day without ringing the bell. She was not alone. "We can't stay long, Mr. Holmes." She said.

Sherlock fixed her with his intense gaze.

"We have to catch a flight to Greece. I wanted you to meet someone who's helping us."

A dark haired, dark eyed boy appeared behind her.

"Zach, this is Mr. Holmes and Mr. Watson. They're helping us find Cammie."

The boy looked at both men, but said nothing.

Bex handed Sherlock a piece of paper. "This is my mobile number and Zach's is on here to. Call us if you find anything or need info." She made a show of looking at her watch. "We should really go, spies are never late."

"Go on ahead, Bex." Zach said. Bex shrugged and they heard her quiet footsteps on the stairs.

Zach looked indecisive.

"If you know something that would save your girlfriend's life, say it." Sherlock said.

"I think my mother's involved in this. As a rule, that's a bad thing."

"Bad is a relative term." Sherlock remarked. "Please clarify."

"Bad as in, the woman is not afraid to kidnap, torture and eventually kill Cameron."

"Eventually. Unless, of course, she is stopped."

"There's not much that can stop Catherine Goode. I am the only one who she would hesitant to kill."

"Only child; estranged father?"

Zach nodded. "I never met my father."

Sherlock studied the boy. He was tall and dark. Girls would call him good-looking. But the boy's eyes weren't innocent or scared. His eyes were dark and Sherlock knew those eyes had seen things even John Watson hadn't seen.

"My mother's got red hair, it's her natural color. I never really thought about my father, I might look like him."

"You know how to kill." Sherlock observed.

The boy looked down at the ground. "That's part of my past, sir."

"This is getting more and more serious." Sherlock said softly.

Sherlock studied the boy again_. American. Tall, dark, handsome, a killer…_ Sherlock's thoughts trailed. No, that wasn't possible. He couldn't accept a theory without evidence.

Next chapter

"Zach?" Bex called, sticking her head through the doorway. "Come on, if we don't hurry, my parents will get suspicious."

"I wouldn't worry too much, Bex." Sherlock stated. "You're a spy, your parents taught you how to lie."

The two teenagers left the flat. Sherlock entered his mind palace. He organized the facts into sentences in his mind.

Fact: Catherine was the boy's mother. She was dangerous.

Fact: The boy had never met his father.

Fact: Catherine had red hair.

Fact: 10% of the Irish population has red hair.

Fact: James Moriarty was Irish.

Fact: James Moriarty was dangerous.

Fact: Zachary Goode had been trained to kill.

He fired off a text. _Do you have kids?_


	4. Chapter 4

James Moriarty's phone sounded. "Toss me my mobile, will you Cat?" He called from his chair.

The woman turned and chucked the phone, her blood-red hair flowing out behind her as she moved.

His eyes widened as he read the message. "He's on to us."

She stalked over to him and draped her arms around his shoulders. "What's upsetting you, darling?"

"Sherlock found out about us. He must have talked."

"But Zachary doesn't know. He's never met you, James."

"Where is she now?" Moriarty asked.

"Rome."

"SEBASTIAN?" he bellowed

"Yes, sir." The sniper and unofficial secretary to the most dangerous man in the world appeared instantly.

"Arrange a grab team in Rome."

"They looking for the girl, boss?"

"Of course. You may go."

"She's dyed her hair." Catherine commented, twirling her finger around a strand of her own hair.

Sebastian paused in the doorway.

"How do you know?" Jim asked, looking up at her.

Catherine pressed hand-written receipt into his hand. The top of the paper was labeled with the name of a family-owned drugstore in Rome. The only thing listed was a box of black hair dye.

"Update the girl's file and have her taken to location Z-52. You may go."

Sebastian left.

"Seriously, how did you know?"

"I'm a woman." Catherine answered cryptically. "And I'm smart. That's why you keep me, Jim."

"Nah." He answered, pulling her around to face him. "You're the only one that gave me a kid."

She kissed him. "He's such a rebel. He's trying to change things at Blackthorne, like Joe. No wonder the girl likes him."

Catherine plunked herself into his lap. "Girls like bad boys."

Jim ran his hands through her hair. "He's not bad, he's boring. He's Goode."

"Ha, ha." Catherine grinned. "I tried, James. But he hates me." She pouted.

"If we kill the girl, will I get to meet my son?" Moriarty asked, dead serious.

"He'll come after us. But he's good, James. He won't accept us." Catherine rested her head on his shoulder.

"We can make him. As they say, if you can't beat them, join them."

"Don't hurt him, James. He is our son, not just mine."


	5. Chapter 5

The torture hadn't worked. She'd been beaten and bloodied and bruised, but they'd gotten absolutely nothing out of her.

"We were too late, Jim." Cat mumbled.

"This is their fault Cat, not mine." Jim stared up at the ceiling.

"I'm sorry, boss." Cat added.

"What about that report thing?"

"Her Cove-Ops report? I haven't read it."

"Well, they might get something out of it."

"Doubt it." Cat mumbled sleepily.

At ten o'clock the next morning one of Cat's underlings burst into her office.

"What is it?" She snapped.

"There's a song she mentions in here and something about a circus."

Catherine jumped to her feet. "Give me that!"

The underling handed Cat the book.

Cat smirked. This was going to be fun.

She strolled into her husband's office and tapped her long nails on his desk. Jim looked up, annoyed. "I don't have time for you, Cat."

She waved the book in front of his face. "They've got something for us."

A truly frightening smile flashed across Jim's face. "Take her to Doctor Steve. Tell him he'll be well paid."

"Of course." Cat replied. Jim raised an eyebrow at her. "Boss." She added quickly.


End file.
